


Baby, We're All To Blame

by buckyno



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, One-Shot, Slash, agents of shield references, hawksilver - Freeform, long-sufferring clint barton, quicksilver is kind of a dicksilver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyno/pseuds/buckyno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once, it wasn’t Clint’s fault.  Clint would swear on any holy book of any religion this was not his fault.  It was Pietro fucking Maximoff’s fault.  The crown of blame rested solely on the silver prince’s head, Clint couldn’t be responsible for everything that dumb little shit got up to.  Who even decided they should do missions together?  Who!?  Natasha probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, We're All To Blame

**Author's Note:**

> Pietro Maximoff Lives!

 

Baby, It’s not a Game, We’re all to Blame

 

For once, it wasn’t Clint’s fault.  Clint would swear on any holy book of any religion this was not his fault.  It was Pietro fucking Maximoff’s fault.  The crown of blame rested solely on the silver prince’s head, Clint couldn’t be responsible for everything that dumb little shit got up to.  Who even decided they should do missions together?  Who!?  Natasha probably.  Yeah, okay, maybe they couldn’t drag him from Pietro’s bedside after the kid got shot but he was in shock, okay?  He’d thought Pietro had died because he _had_.  Apparently super-human metabolism meant super-human healing.  It had been a terrifying process to witness.  The kid’s body essentially shut down while his powers worked to heal his wounds but that had left him for all intents and purposes very fucking dead, albeit momentarily.  Anybody would have been in shock after that.  Honestly.  Seriously.

Anyway, back to the now, the painful present.  Painful for Clint at any rate.  Pietro was fine, his usual smirk on his asshole face and dressed in the go-to black, blue, and silver which was…good to see actually.  Red really wasn’t the kid’s color.  Clint shook the image from his head; the pain must have been getting to him.

Pietro peered down at him with those deep blue eyes and those ridiculously long black eyelashes and asks with a lilting accent, “You alright, Old Man?”

The only thing that comes out of Clint for a good embarrassing second is, “Uh.”  Followed shortly by a furious, “Fuck no!”

Any blank Clint draws at times wasn’t his fault either.  All Pietro’s, all of it.  Bane of his existence, Pietro Maximoff, _goddamnit_.  Thank the stars and stones Pietro doesn’t have his sister’s abilities—all the things he would see in Clint’s head.  Hell, he probably already knew.  Clint thinks of all the times Pietro had no problem getting in his personal space in quick succession, his brain trying to distract him.  Scratch that, Pietro definitely probably knew and he just likes to torment Clint with his everything.

None of that matter should’ve mattered to Clint right now because, oh yeah, his freaking right arm was _broken_.  Do you know what an archer is with a broken arm?  Not a damn archer for starters!  It hurt like hell and Pietro is already leaning down slowly, like he’s afraid going too fast might hurt Clint further which would be very considerate of him if it weren’t for all the pain.  Pietro supports him and helps him navigate the rubble.  The rubble was of a previously standing and reasonably sturdy boat dock but then of course Quicksilver happened and like everything else in Clint’s life, and the dozen or so fancy-pants boats cradled in the docks arms, it was all blown to bits as if a tornado came through.

Pietro rolled his eyes, “I do not know why you are upset.  I caught the bad guy.  That was the job, yes?”

The bad guy, as Pietro so simply put it, was an ex-Colombian drug lord who gained the power to walk on water full-on Jesus style after taking tainted fish oil supplements.  When Clint heard that he should have noped the hell out of the mission but Pietro had popped up like a freaking trouble gopher.  A really, really pretty trouble gopher with a love of tight shirts and smelled like some kind of sinful spiced honey.  Yeah, Pietro was the fucking worst.

“My arm is _broken,_ jackass!”

“It will heal.”

“Eventually!  Some of us don’t have superpowers!”

“I have noticed.”  Pietro’s tone held something Clint couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What the hell is that supposed to be mean?”

“Means you should be more careful.”

Clint gapes at him, “You gotta be shittin’ me, this is _your_ fault!  If you hadn’t been going all F5 over there a freaking propeller wouldn’t have tried to give me last rites!”

Pietro flinched and avoided Clint’s eyes, “I did not mean to do that.”

They reached their cloaked quinjet and Pietro helped Clint safely inside with the kind care Clint couldn’t just brush off, “Listen, sorry, shit happens I know you didn’t mean—”

“No, not that.  I did not mean to go…F5?  Sometimes I find it hard to stop moving.  I did not mean to do all this.”  Pietro casually waves his hand behind at the utter devastation but his eyes don’t really leave Clint’s arm.  The kid frowns and vanishes in a streak of blue to reappear in less than a blink with a medkit and pain killers in hand.

Clint takes the offering, “Is this your way of apologizing?”

At that Pietro bristles, “It was a giant boat propeller.  You should have seen it coming.”

“Oh my God.  You’re the actual worst!”

“What do you want me to do,” Pietro leans in too close and yet not nearly close enough for Clint’s liking, “kiss and make it better?”

If all the air left Clint’s lungs it was because of the pain thrumming in his arm.  Pietro _tsks_ at him and draws away, he’s already a blue blur when Clint musters the courage to yell, “What? Wait!”

The kid is in his face again so fast Clint can feel the wind in his hair.  Pietro’s breathe ghosts across the archer’s lips.  Clint felt lightheaded and he wants to blame it on the Vicodin he just took but he knows that’s Pietro’s fault too.  Pietro tilts Clint’s chin up then gently runs his hot tongue across the older man’s bottom lip.  Clint surges forward, the pain in his arm dulled by the tingling he feels to the very tips of his toes from the not-kiss, but Pietro leans back giving Clint nothing but empty air.

The kid full-on grins at him, “Too slow, Old Man.”  Pietro’s graceful as a cat as he back-steps away, before he dashes off he says, “What, you didn’t see that coming?”

The blur that is Quicksilver heads toward their catch of the day who was still hanging unconscious from a splintered wooden dock beam.  Clint sits there stunned.  Son of a…nobody in the land would convict him, nobody, it would be justifiable homicide.  Wanda would understand.  He touches his lips with his good hand and groans.  All Pietro’s fault.  Everything, always and forever.  Problem was, Clint was starting to not mind that much.

 

 

 

end


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